How To Glare To Death The Jerk Of Your Godfather
by Toomuchme
Summary: Really, by now Mr. Black should know how to crontol his impulses. Now, our slightly deranged hero, Harry Potter, is shoved in parenthood. See how he tries to hide everything from his family and friend with a Snape worthy glare directed at Sirius. SBHP. Rated M because I am paranoid. Reviews will be happily received(if you catch my meaning)
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER.

All things Harry Potter belong to J. .

* * *

NO.

Nonononononono.

Oh,_fuck._

Double that. I am at the moment sitting in my relatively new bed in Potter Manor probably sporting a striking resemblance to a fish.

The culprit?

That book on the floor. You see, for the past few months I had been feeling… _weird; _and I decided to look into it.

Three words:

I

Am

Pregnant.

But, you're a man, you'd say. Well, duh. But, hey I am also a wizard and you never know what a magic wand might do. Oh, that was lame and I am laughing? Calm down the hysterical laughter, Potter! Really, it isn't funny. I am sobbing or laughing? Oh god, I am a madman.

Well, magic is one of the book's accomplice in humiliating me, then.

Although, in hindsight, I know who is my dignity's murderer.

The one and only Sirius Black. Believed killed two years ago, he came back to life with a couple in tow in Christmas of my sixth year.

The couple, it turns out, were my parents; that Sirius with his trademark recklessness and foolhardiness snatched from Death's clutches. The reunion was teary and sentimental, but soon enough everyone was settled. When, my family- God, doesn't that sound right? - asked me to go to Potter Manor I readily agreed. I had notions of talking with me Mum, flying with my Dad and fooling around with Sirius. I never expected to have sex with Sirius. However, I will confess that my feelings for him weren't…aren't…exactly fraternal.

He was drunk, I was in awe of him and we were alone. I genuinely thought we could be a couple from then on. It was not to be. Black, who shall be named like that, called it a _fuck _of all things. I didn't dare mention to him that I the night I lost my virginity wasn't going to be considered a fuck. He went and left me with this thing (really, I should look if it is boy or girl). According to the book male pregnancies last about 5 months and are very difficult to spot, because the stomach doesn't grow. No, I still don't have a uterus, thank you very much. At least I passed most of my time pregnant unaware and relaxed. Now, the big problem is when I appear with a baby at Hogwarts. Because I am not staying here waiting for my child to be born. I am going on a vacation to… Russia! That should do. I hope my not-so little secret stays uncovered. I wouldn't like my Dad to throttle one of his best friends to death and to be sent to Azkaban. After all, I just got them back from Death!

….

Honestly, can my life be more insane?

Curse you, Black!


	2. Chapter 1: Planning

DISCLAIMER

All things Harry Potter are owned by J.K. Rowling.

Okay, first I need some alcohol… Wait, isn't it bad for the baby? Maybe I should cross-dress and go into a library and ask for pointers and whatnot. Oh, hell. I am a mess and was that a kick? Arghhh! Relax, breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

…that sounded incredibly dirty.

Now, to try and make sense I'll write a plan. Hermione always does and I have long decided that universal truth equates whatever she says.

PLAN: Have a (hopefully) healthy baby

Contact someone who deals with , oddities; I don't think there is a matron for this type of things.

Find where the baby will came out from.

Try and make family and friends that I will be safer going to a muggle summer camp and another schools once term starts.

Kill Black.

Have sex with Black one more time, yummy.

Forget point 4 and 6.

Buy baby clothes, nappies and all that jazz.

Okay, that's settled it. Time to face the lions.

"MUM!" I holler.

"Yes, dear?" As always she is like a rocket when I call her, I have put my bet on feeling guilty for leaving me to fend for myself at the tender age of one.

I fidget and make myself sound shy and eager. "I have a proposition! You see, I don't want Voldemort to attack us again or Hogwarts, for that matter. He wouldn't suspect that I am at a muggle summer camp or in a different school, so I should be safe. Ask Dumbledore if you need to, but I don't want to endanger any of you!"

Her face which had been closing off at first, softens at my so-called 'hero complex.' She nods silently and with a kiss on the cheek, goes to find the senile old man that rules this vigilante business.

I decide to go on a visit of the Manor if only to see it for a last time in a long time. I hope.

Potter Manor is big, but no ostentatiously so. It has a Quidditch pitch, a lake which is good for a swim and a forest in the edge of the grounds. All in all, it is very charismatic with its exotic flowers and the sun makes it look more beautiful. It's home.

I believe that how a person decorates their room or house reflects in them. The living room is cosy and tidy, with the occasional knick-knack lying about; also, it is filled with book, WWW products, some photos and a lot of realistic non-moving pictures. That is related that neither me or Mum want portraits watching our every step.

Comparing this to Privet Drive, is how you understand the differences between the two Evans sisters. Petunia is shallow and as fake as you can get, while Mrs. Potter here radiates warmth and cheerfulness.

Is the same with Sir…Black. His bedroom is a complete mess of things only he can figure out. And it has lots of sex toys, which comes to prove that he is a pervert.

When I say lots I am saying a fucking wardrobe is dedicated to them. Say again, why I am in love with him?

No, better shut it, less I start drooling again. God, that was embarrassing…

_He is so handsome with those stormy grey eyes and that gorgeous hair. Huh, he is talking. He really has a beautiful smile, I wish he'd kiss me…_

"_Harry! You have poured your soup all over you, honestly!" Was that Hermione? Well, leave me contemplate this jaw-dropping creature, thank you. His hands are so strong, I wonder what it would be like to be embraced by those muscular arms._

"_Harry, you are drooling" And with that I snap out of the Sirius-inflicted daze. Wait, what?!_

_Ewww, I AM drooling. I am turning into a Ginny! Next I know, I will be sending him horrible rhymes for Valentine's Day._

I blink my eyes open, I suppose I must have fallen asleep by the lake shore. As I still groggy, I turn to whoever is nudging me their toe. " Wassit?"

If I squint real hard I can see black on top of something white. I assume that is Dad with his still too pale face.

"You can go, son. We have been discussing this for awhile and Dumbledore agrees that is safe enough."

This last announcement wakes me all the way. Great! Step 3 is done… and now that I think about it shouldn't it have been Step 1, first? Well, I already made a list, you can't expect nothing more from me.

Who do I know that is into shady business? Yes, Mundugus. I only have to get a hold from him, which is easier said than done with that alcoholic git.

Author Notes:

Well, I am at last motivated to continue one of my bunnies! Siriusly(no pun intended) my PC has at least 50 stories by now.

See ya.

…


	3. Chapter 2: Longing for a prat

DISCLAIMER

All things Harry Potter are owned by J. .

* * *

Okay, before I met with Dung I should pack everything up, which will likely cost me thirty minutes. Though I may not know _what _I'm packing until I arrive… wherever I put my mind on. You see, Harry Potter is an extremely disorganised person. Mind you, I don't do it on purpose, per se; it just happens and that's why Hermione is always buying me blank schedules. People think I don't like them but without these godsends, I could've failed everything since first year. And people say that the bushy-haired girl doesn't understand Ron and I. I think she uses Legilimency in order to buy us the perfect presents. I wonder what is going to be this year's treat…

Why I must always get sidetracked?! Even my thoughts are chaotic.

Back to the topic at hand, I am really messy. And my room confirms my theory on reflecting one's personality.

It's blue and has a few photos of my family and friends on the walls, but what draws more attention is the mine camp that is the floor. As I'm used to it, I don't mind, but everyone else- who is mostly sane- stays away from my room. It's a mystery what could sprang upon you when you step inside. I have already dealt with a rogue and particularly fierce Cornish Pixie and a botched potion that animated everything it touched. Man, it wasn't a pretty sight.

My bedroom also has a huge and comfy bed and a really large window (I'm done with cramped sleeping arrangements.)

Contrary to your expectations, the fact that I'm gay and pregnant doesn't mean I have to decorate this place with glittering hearts and lots of pink. Pink equals Umbitch, so pink is out; and glittering hearts is too close to Gilderoy Lockhart to be even considered a probable candidate.

As I pack- more like throw randomly chosen items in a suitcase- I hear soft footsteps approaching my door. Only threee people dare even get that near: Mad-Eye, Tonks and… Black.

Everything but Black, please.

Step, step, step. Silence.

Tap Tap Tap TaTaTa.

That narrows down the list. Moody would probably throw open the door and yell "CONSTANT VIGILANCE!". The cheerful taps can be Tonks or Sirius. I swear, insanity must be inherited in that family.

For once in my life, I am praying to see pink when they open the door.

Pink.

Pink.

Pink.

BLACK.

Oh, shit. The jerk has the gall of grinning at me. OF GRINNING! Doesn't he realize that he could be now be dead if it wasn't for me and my generous idea of letting him out of the hook?

My face tries to scowl and grin at the same time. Add to that the twitch my left eye seems to have welcomed with open arms and I am sure I look like a psycho that has lost his pretty and shiny knife.

However, the idiot is oblivious as always and doesn't notice.

"I've heard about you going away. They say that you want to keep us safe but I know the truth." He finished as solemnly as an immature prat could. My heartbeat seems to have stopped. Wha…? Now it is beating at much faster than normal tune. How can he possibly know? I am not even sure he knows males do get pregnant! Keep calm and take a deep breath. "Oh, yes? And what is it, then?" I am frankly amazed my pitch didn't went and octave or two higher.

He starts grinning, again. What the hell is wrong with this man? Does he sniff glue or what? But the mirth that dances in his eyes only make him more handsome and his hair is looking better than ever, framing his face like that. My eyes flicker down to his lips and that thrice-damned grins, which reminds me that I am supposed to be annoyed with Sir-Black, not ogling him like a starved person would look at a sandwich.

"I was your age once too, Mr. Potter. I understand if you want to go outside and explore, maybe shag some pretty ladies or snog senselessly a hot guy. So, do tell me, what are you going to get up to while you are in that 'Muggle summer camp' of yours?"

His words cut; I don't want shag anyone! Well, maybe him, but that doesn't count. I want to be loved and don't be used and thrown away! Is that too much?

I force a laugh. "No, I'm not going to become a playboy. Now, I am packing. Would you mind…?" I nod towards the door, but he just makes his way to me. A book trips him and I am now thinking that it is very possible that my crap can sense if I want people to enter or not my domains. Black has a hard time of crossing the room, having to wrestle with a jumper remnant of the 'Potion Incident'.

Finally, he lands in front of me looking flustered, out of breath and more shaggable than ever, damn him!

"Holy, shit. What it is up with 'The Mass' over there, Harry? Hey tried to mar my beautiful face!" He clutches said part of his body dramatically and throws himself to the bed. Thinking of beds and Black make my cock twitch. Dobby dressed as a ballerina with Snape begging for a autograph in his buttocks. Okay, that's good.

I try to hide my glare, but Sirius being the self-centred brat that he is, is still going on about his good looks and hot body. No argument there, but my ears are starting to buzz. I only nod and hum in agreement and proceed on packing again.

Soon, he is helping and every time that I see him bend down to pick up something I become harder. Bad and nasty thoughts aren't helping anymore. I think hormones might have a part in this 'I want to fuck like bunnies' state that I am in.

His arse is nicely shaped and his tight jeans don't hide much. And I want to touch him badly and make him come shouting out my name, like last time.

After some time, he finally exits my room when I'm packed; leaving me with a raging hard-on. I sigh and look towards my right hand.

You're in for a rough time, my friend.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Sorry for the unstable number of letters. My mind just works oddly.

Cheers!


	4. Chapter 3: Sneaking and cheating

Author's Note: Thanks a lot for you review noipasithea. It made me feel warm and fuzzy inside :D. Yes, I do know that this story is chaotic and my other ones are much more sane(you'll see them soon enough) but is that when I thought of a SB/HP fic I just cracked up- and promptly caused my classmate to edge away…

OH MY GOD, Dorea Potter _was _a Black. Yay for inbreeding in the wizarding world!

Warnings: Slight insanity, and shiny stuff inside!

Disclaimer:

All things Harry Potter belong to J.

* * *

Now that my wrist is definitively sore, I should stick to my plan. This means finding Mundungus Fletcher, the rather infamous thief that is still quite the mystifying element. I mean, when you hear people talking about the 'honourable and courageous' Orden of the Phoenix you think of Dumbledore dressed in majestic gold robes with grim-faced and proud fighters at his side. If people saw that we truly consist of a bunch of teenagers, a gore-show called Mad-Eye, pranksters, an overgrown bat, a filthy common thief and some concerned parents, they would run down the hills thinking something along the lines of:

'HOW THE FUCK ARE THEY GOING TO WIN!'

But, we are the only stupid ones to go head to head with Voldie.

So there.

The thing about finding Dung is that I should dress suspiciously. Yes, with Dung's lot, the shadier the better. I know of an instance when a perfectly respectable wizard got arrested while in their… merry company, for being too clean. It stands out a lot if you behave normally, also; not that I have a problem with _that_, mind you. Honestly, impregnated by my own godfather? How much eccentric can you get?

As I don't want to steal Snape's clothes and me thinks he only has one set of his billowing robe's and I'd rather not see his bare backside; I will go with my favourite option. Unfortunately, this option was Black's Christmas present and thinking about Black and Christmas is a bad idea. Ugh, damn hormones!

I will wear the absolutely awesomeness that is a ninja's costume. Throwing stars included!

I can hardly wait for this epic and surely memorable moment of my life. Even the thi-baby is excited!

When I was kid all I ever wanted was a ninja suit…

… the fact that with nunchunks I could get to _finally_ kick Duddykins' arse wasn't part of the reason at all.

Really.

As I sneak around Potter Manor at night- already playing my role- I find a door that I hadn't paid attention to before. But you shan't blame me, ladies and gentlemen, for when I am in a sugar-high, my already fickle concentration dwindles to the one of a two year old.

Ron, lovely bastard that he is, knows this and takes great pleasure in feeding me candy in industrial quantity only to follow me when I am reduced to a trouble-magnet with no sense of responsibility at all. Needless to say, we have been in rather sticky situations. Like that time with the flying car. It was done on purpose, but halfway Hogwarts, I snapped out of it and panicked. I might or might not nearly have fallen out of the car and had landed on the train.

Returning to the 'Room of Mysteries' as my mind has recently dubbed it. Curiosity is my ultimate flaw and that the person to blame for that is my dearest Aunt Petunia, who literally trained me to hear all the gossip I could while taking care of the garden and to report afterwards. The habit is now a part of my loveable-self and people like to use the euphemism 'child-like wonder, when I know the term 'nosy scrawny git' would fit better.

But alas, I am too damn cute for my own good.

I tip-toe towards the ajar door and slip inside as quietly as possible. For once, my luck hasn't ran out – yet - and I don't find anything with a burning desire to kill me, or shag me to death. Believe me, that last one _has_ happened.

The room turns out to be as normal as they come. Well, it has this really cool space for bowling, and a rather new ping pong table. And who knew that I could be glad to see Snape's image? Specially when is attached to a dartboard. Apparently, this is the games' room.

Wait. What is that hidden at the corner. The thing looks dusty and unused. To me, it sends this message: _Open me._

And so I do.

It remind me of the Black's family tapestry, but it is so garishly _shiny_ that I'm not really sure. After a minute of squinting or so, my eyes finally adjust to the light. It is a tapestry. Ohh, I finally will know my grandparents name! Though why no one has ever bothered to inform me is another question…

Curioser and curioser, my first cousins on Dad's side of the family are none other than the Weasleys.

Why nobody tells me anything ever? At risk of sounding whiny, it's true…

I'm sure that my face is contracted in a (surely very cute) pout.

WHAT? DOREA _BLACK? _What the heck? Oh dear, my kid will probably have two heads or something like that.

A bossy voice, suspiciously like Hermione's resounds in my head. 'Calm down, after all every half-blood or pureblood comes for inbreeding and some are not that bad.' To the voice's credit, they are worse examples of wizard kind, Merope Gaunt just one of them. Honestly, who in Merlin's name dies of unrequited love? Tommy boy's Mum, that's who.

There's nothing I can do, so I leave it rest and head towards the Floo.

"The Bloody Stump!" This location is a pub in Knocturn Alley.

See? I do research some things before carrying out my plans! I don't always make it up as I go, as much as it looks like it.

Dressing as a ninja turns out to be a good idea. I mean, so far in this dirty, gloomy and rowdy 'respectable' pub, I've spotted a hag, a vampire and a thing that looks like a goat with a human face. If I had dressed sanely, people already would be glaring at me. Also, for the moment I have adopted a shifty look, which means I am hiding something.

Perfect.

The Alley is lonely and creepy and I hide in the shadows waiting for Dung… Damn, I'm not even sure he's here today! Looks like I am eating my words about research. Curse you, Murphy.

Maybe I could use this opportunity and buy the baby stuff. Believe or not, this place actually sells these kinds of materials. And it's high-quality.

Okay, highly-stolen-quality it's more like it.

There he is! Limping and looking as a scoundrel, alright. He sneaks a look over his back, as he should. Not one is ever relaxed in the stinky hell-hole.

"Oi, Dung!" I catch his attention dangling a ball I had painted of silver and that is shiny in the moonlight. "This treasure, fer yer help. What d'ye think?" I must admit my accent is lame.

Dung's eyes lit up in greediness and he snatches the ball with his filthy paws. I take a deep breath and start the negotiation…

Half an hour later and thirty shiny balls lighter (how thick can you get?), I have a parchment with a name and a direction. The witch in question can me with my… unique situation. Her name is Anabel Cidón and owns a little business in Madrid.

Be warned, Spain; here comes the Boy-Who-Lived!


End file.
